American Pharoah storms to victory in the Triple Crown.
Photograph: Seth Wenig/AP

If ever it has been wondered whether the gods who sit high on Mount Olympus are fans of horse racing, then the question was firmly put to bed on Saturday afternoon at roughly 6.50pm.

The instant the gates clacked open, American Pharoah and jockey Victor Espinoza enjoyed a trip that seemed inspired, protected almost, by divine agency. Left in an early and undisputed lead, Espinoza was able to dictate the race as he wished, gradually ratcheting up the pace as he sauntered around the home turn.

From the top of the stretch all the way to the wire, Espinoza then showed the world what makes his mount so brilliant: the constitution of a warhorse, the engine of a locomotive, and the heart and soul of an animal seemingly not of this world.

They careened away from their nearest hapless pursuer to record a five-and-a-half length victory at the wire, in the sixth fastest Belmont Stakes in history. The 90,000 people assembled tested every single nut and bolt holding together Belmont Park.

But it had been a performance worthy of every last strained vocal cord.

It would be all too tempting to start comparing American Pharoah with previous Triple Crown winners. There are practical reasons for avoiding this inevitable charade – at least for now.

American Pharoah makes history by clinching first Triple Crown in 37 years

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The first is that the Triple Crown of the present day isn’t necessarily the Triple Crown of the past. The Kentucky Derby qualifying system that has been in place the past three years had no bearing on the Kentucky Derby of 1978. And while some argue that the new system has had little affect on the Triple Crown as a whole, those denials are couched in self-denial.

The new qualifying system has changed the way horses are trained going into the Kentucky Derby, and the ripple effect from those changes have shaped, however small or profoundly, the sensitive dynamic of the Triple Crown. There’s no way they cannot have.

Another is that American Pharoah’s career isn’t yet over. The great names of Triple Crown folklore cemented their legacies with many more great performances on the track, long after the cries of the thousands crammed into the Titanic of Belmont Park’s grandstand had disappeared into the fog of time.

Take War Admiral, the Triple Crown hero of 1937 – he continued to race and win up to the start of his five-year-old season, even a defeat in a match race at Pimlico against the mighty Seabiscuit barely blemishing his long and remarkable career.

In 1948, Citation recorded another eight wins after his Belmont Stakes victory as a three-year-old before going on to notch an incredible 16-race sequence of wins – a record that wasn’t surpassed until 2008.

Many thought that Seattle Slew, who won the Triple Crown in 1977, would never race again having cheated death early the following year. And yet, only months later after a Lazarus-like recovery, he was back beating the best there was during a year saturated with the best of the bests.

So, while it would probably be a little knee-jerk to cast into bronze his position alongside the truly great just yet, it is not a little bit premature to say this: he could be perhaps the most important of all Triple Crown winners.

When the likes of Sir Barton, Omaha, War Admiral, Whirlaway, Assault, Secretariat, Seattle Slew and Affirmed were doing their winning, they did so during the halcyon years of American horse racing.

These were the sepia-tinged days when the grandstands at racetracks the length and breadth of this yawning continent routinely groaned beneath the feet of tens of thousands who turned up in hale, wind or shine every week and weekend to support the sport they loved. What lured them? The promise of a quick buck, that’s for sure. But even more potent than that was the love and adulation of the creature at the very heart of this strange spectacle.

Few animals are more integral to the recent history of this country than the horse. They were at the front of the wagon trains that rolled west. They stood beside the soldiers as the country’s story was written. And the racehorse belongs to the dying vestiges of that long and storied tradition.

But the mystique of the race horse has waned in recent years. That’s no secret. Racetracks are closing, attendances are dropping, money is drying out.

What is also widely acknowledged are the reasons behind this trend. One is that the public no longer trusts the sport it once loved, sometimes for good reason. They see crooks where they want heroes. They see businessmen where they want horsemen. And they see dead horses too often than is right.

The gaudy circus surrounding recent unproved allegations made against American Pharoah’s owner, Ahmed Zayat, of unpaid gambling debts is just another reason for casual observers of the sport to think that the game is a rain-trap for cheaters.

Which makes the outpouring of unalloyed joy from those who have witnessed and celebrated American Pharoah’s great achievements all the more remarkable. Let’s make no bones about it: if you removed Baffert, Zayat and Espinoza from the equation and replaced them with any other trainer, owner and jockey in the sport, the scenes would have been identical, just as jubilant and as sincerely intentioned. Saturday proved once again that racing is really not about the people but about the horse – the way racing should be.

The personalities are interchangeable. The horse is fundamental.

At a time when the sport has never had to work as hard for recognition and relevance, American Pharoah reminded a nation that widely regards horse racing in this country as overtly cruel, and callous, and uncaring, that the same spectacle can still produce transcendental moments.

Even more fortuitously, his win has arrived in the midst of positive and profound political change within the industry’s governing bodies. Through gradual implantation of the National Uniform Medication Program and the efforts of such organizations as the Water Hay Oats Alliance, drug use and abuse in the sport is gradually and inexorably being whittled away.

Not enough is being done as swiftly as is needed – few would argue against that point. But the sight of American Pharoah thundering and thundering and thundering down the straight of Belmont Park proves beyond doubt that the efforts of so many well-intentioned people are worth getting behind.

Is American Pharoah the best Triple Crown winner we’ve ever seen? There’s little way of knowing with any certainty. And quite frankly, I’m not ready to start picking apart his achievements just yet. But if and how the sport outlives the tumult it currently endures, and emerges through the other side still breathing and with all major body parts still intact, what is certain is that American Pharoah will be looked upon as perhaps the most important Triple Crown winner of all.

This is a sport in transition, one looking for a hero figure to guide it towards safe ground. And finally, we have another hero with whom we can continue on that journey.

American Pharoah’s his name, and there’s little chance of wearing it out.